


Charred and Scarred

by Amelia_Clark



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Demon!Dean, Ficlet, I'm just warning you, M/M, Season/Series 10, but not the kind you enjoy, smut sort of, this is dark and bleak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 22:30:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2484629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelia_Clark/pseuds/Amelia_Clark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hey, angel," Dean calls after them, "I can see it now, you know."</p><p>Castiel pauses, hand on the doorjamb, while Sam casts worried eyes over his shoulder. <i>Don't take the bait,</i> Castiel thinks, and then says anyway: "See what?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Charred and Scarred

**Author's Note:**

> Yikes, this is some heavy shit, y'all? I had a rotten weekend, and I took it out on these two (although canon deserves some of the blame). Sorry.

"Hey, angel," Dean calls after them, "I can see it now, you know."

Castiel pauses, hand on the doorjamb, while Sam casts worried eyes over his shoulder. _Don't take the bait,_ Castiel thinks, and then says anyway: "See what?"

Dean laughs, a joyless sound. "All of it, really. Your grace, dying inside you. Your wings. Why'd you never tell me you had six of them? They're falling apart, you look like a plucked chicken. But you know the funniest part? I can actually _see_ you're in love with me. It's, like, pouring off of you in waves, it's fucking hilarious."

It would be a knife in the gut, but Castiel's already far past that, numb with loss. "Sam, I would like to talk to Dean alone," he says, voice breaking on Dean's name, and when Sam opens his mouth to protest, he levels all he's left of his angelic gaze in challenge; Sam sighs, squeezes Castiel's shoulder, and leaves the dungeon.

Castiel turns around. "I'm not in love with you," he says.

"Right. You been tellin' yourself that for years, haven't you? That it's just faith, that you followed me and fell for me like a good little soldier. But it's not. It's never been." Dean squares his shoulders against the chair he's chained to, and Castiel watches the muscles flex in his arms, feels his cock twitch unbidden. "When did you realize you wanted to fuck me, Cas?"

"I don't." He’s never been a good liar, and this is the biggest one of all.

"Mmm, that's right, you want me to fuck _you,_ doncha? Want my cock in your ass, wanna ride me like a bronco. No sense denying it, angel, I can read you like a book." Dean's ankles are cuffed to the chair as well, but he spreads his knees wider in obscene invitation. "Well, here's your chance, Cas. 'M all yours, take me out for a spin."

"Dean. No. That you would even make the suggestion—this is not you. You wouldn’t want this. I don't want this."

"Yeah? You sure you don't want a taste?" Dean licks his lips slowly, curves them into a smirk when Castiel can't look away from his mouth. "You think I don't want you back? The old Dean, he was head over heels for you, angel. Now I just wanna fuck your brains out. Better than nothin', right?"

And there, there’s the knife in the gut, piercing through his fog of grief. Castiel takes a shaky breath. "Is that true? Do you—did you—did you love me too?"

"Course I did. Wasn't it obvious? Go ask Sammy if you want, dude's pretty sharp. Ask him how many times he's caught me staring at you. Ask him about when he noticed me stop giving a shit about personal space. You’re halfway and more to kicking the bucket, Cas. You really wanna die without kissing me?”

Castiel closes his eyes, realizes he’s across the room already, in the devil’s trap with this travesty of the man he loves so helplessly; “no,” he says, “no, I don’t,” and then he’s bending to slot his mouth against Dean’s. He tastes of ash and sulfur, but his mouth is still so soft, his tongue warm as it tangles with his. Castiel’s neck is crooked awkwardly, and now that he’s finally kissing Dean he finds he can’t stop; so he moves closer, straddles him, his hands sliding down Dean’s arms to curve around the shackles on his wrists. 

Dean grunts and lifts his hips, and Castiel gasps at the press of his half-hard cock. “Come on, angel,” this not-Dean who wears his beautiful face whispers, nipping at Castiel’s lower lip, “come on, let me out and I’ll fuck you senseless. We don’t even have to leave the devil’s trap, just let me have my hands on you. Bend you over the chair and pound you to kingdom come. You want it, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he says, and rips Dean’s shirt open. 

He’s been falling for so long, it’s a relief to land. He always knew this is where it would end—Dean inside him with bruising hands on his hips, growling profanities into his ear—a hell that feels like heaven.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [this Rilo Kiley song.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cs796XMvpEI)


End file.
